


bare me the heart I desire

by siriuslydraco



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 13:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11601840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslydraco/pseuds/siriuslydraco
Summary: Jon Snow can't seem to stop thinking about Sansa, even when he's in the Dragon Queens bed





	bare me the heart I desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mairia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mairia/gifts), [deadlydazzling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlydazzling/gifts), [roseweasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseweasley/gifts).



> So many lovely people sprung this idea in my head after a long and stimulating conversation on our Jonsa forum about the famed plot of #boatbang in season 7  
> I hope it doesn't happen but if it does then I hope the reason is something like this.  
> (also this was written before Bran and Arya came back so Jon still thinks they're dead)

The lapping waves are calm against the side of the boat and Jon can feel their steady rhythm beneath his feet as he stands atop the deck. The large vessel, emblazoned boldly with the Targaryen sigil and colors, sways side to side gently as the waters below are parted with its speed. There is something oddly unsettling about standing on a ship in the cover of darkness while feeling the unforgiving tendencies of the waters and Jon feels he's floating yet again in the oblivion that is death. 

The world around him is slow moving and still with nothing but the color of obsidian surrounding him; only the faintest light of the neighboring ships to light the way. The lights burn bright and fiery against the mirror of sea; like ghosts of dragon flames atop the water and the redness of it makes him look away. Ever since he rose from the dead he has held fire in his veins, but fire has made home in his heart. 

There is nothing around him, just sea and hulking ships that disappear behind him in the darkness. At this hour the world turns to a blank canvas, until the gods decide to paint the sky again come morning. But Jon finds that he can paint it himself with the colors of sunset and clear sky if he only thinks of red hair and blue eyes. He may never walk in darkness again if he only thinks of Sansa.

Her letters burn within his memory, and he wishes to read them again like he has so many times during these past months that he has spent without her. When he reads her carefully written scrawl he imagines the words in her voice, imagines the little flicker of defiance or that raise of her eyebrows whenever there is something challenging written. He has imagined, over and over again, how she would tell him the last line of her last letter and how she would look if she did. 

_I miss you._

Three words of utter pain that claws shallow crevices inside Jon's remaining soul. Ones that taunt him and beat him down for even thinking of missing her. She is his sister and she would have revolted against the very idea of him if she had of known how he thought of her. If Sansa had known that the reason he had warmed the dragon queens bed was to rid the image of her Tully inherited beauty from his mind she would have surely banished Jon from her side long ago. There is a chill in the wind that bites at Jon fiercely and he is taken with the sudden thought of how he misses snow and frost, and how the flakes of winter would fall upon a crown of auburn hair. 

But she is no longer the red rose that blooms within the walls of Winterfell; but another cold and granite likeness that rests solemnly in its crypts. Word had reached the Targaryen fleet that the vengeful queen Cersei had sent handsomely paid men to murder the remaining Starks in Winterfell. Jon had not been there, but Sansa had and the promise of her protection haunts his every step. _I'll protect you. I promise_. But he had not protected her, instead he had made his bed beside a dragon and he had paid dearly for his lack of loyalty. 

"I miss you too" he whispers into the air; hoping that his desperate words would somehow travel to her in spirit faster than any raven could carry them. 

"Not too late to be gazing at the night, Jon Snow?" the voice is as dull paced as it always is, and he can not help but cringe at the way she says his name. There is no romance to Daenerys Targaryens voice; not like the voices of ladies in songs. Not like the voices of those who bloomed in winter. 

Despite the unpleasant feeling that slowly pierces Jon's heart, he can not deny that there is a certain beauty to the silver haired queen. She is a demanding woman, and she demands to be looked at. Jon can never truly get used to her beauty and he finds she shines more ethereally every time he beholds her, but he is but a man, and no man could deny the simple fact that Daenerys is beautiful. 

But beautiful is a casual word that can be thrown around in description of the most common looking women. Daenerys may not be common or plain, but she is not _Sansa_. She can not gain smiles when she walks into a room, she can not sew deftly or sing songs, she can not counsel Jon intimately like Sansa done for him in the North. Daenerys does not reassure Jon's claim to the North but denies it. 

"I could not sleep" the words _Your Grace_ echo in his mind after he speaks, but he never utters them to her. She is not the Queen of Westeros yet, and Jon will not kneel with words. 

"I find the sea unsettling, even when it's this calm. I could not sleep either" she tells him, the frame of her short stature cloaking him in a coldness that is not even found in a winter wind. She may be the mother of beasts that breathe the most ferocious flames, but she is not warm. Somewhere in the distance he can hear the screech of them and the flap of their wings in the air, and he begins to realise that Daenerys has no reason to be warm. She does not need to charm or please or display the most ladylike of courtesies when she has dragons as magnificent as the legends painted them. She uses fear and fire as manipulation. Perhaps that is why Jon found it so easy to fall into bed with her. 

But perhaps it was to rid himself of his sister. 

He shivers then and it has nothing to do with the chilled spray of the sea as it jumps up and licks his face, or the bristling wind that batters against them. Sansa's memory is ripped from the fresh grave he had buried her in within his mind, and it is painful and torturous and he wishes somehow that he could just die where he stands and be with her. But he heaves a heavy breath, one he hadn't realised he'd been holding in, and he knows he is alive and must stay so for the sake of the realm and its people. 

He must first defeat the Lannisters and the White Walkers and then the gods can claim him once again. And then he can see her; beautiful and fearsome to behold with her hair like blood and her eyes like the calmest sea. 

"Something troubles you, my lord?" the Dragon Queen's voice is silk as she leans towards him, and he curses himself when he allows her to take his arm in her hand. _I am not a Lord, he thinks, I am a King. Sansa would have called me a King._ Butfighting with Daenerys on account of his title is a battle he's all but lost thus far, and he can not bear to repeat it no matter how much she loves to argue with him. 

"A lot of things trouble me" Jon's voice is rough with the emotion he restrains within himself, and he fears that at any moment he will break down like he has been doing when night gathers and the sun hides away. He has cried bitter tears of frustration and grief and utter heartbreak over the fact that Sansa is gone. Just like that the brightest flame in his life has been extinguished, and he wasn't even there to protect her. Instead he was making his bed and lying in it with a foreign invader. 

He instantly resents the silver haired beauty beside him and cringes from her touch. There is a flicker in her eyes then, only barely visible with the light of the moon, but Jon catches it anyway. It is pure rage and a violent jealousy that Jon almost fears. _Does she know how I loved her? How I could never love anyone like my Sansa?_ He had thought perhaps he could learn to love another woman, maybe in time when wars were over and battles were done. But that was before Sansa had died and now as he looks at Daenerys and sees her silver hair in the moonlight he knows he can never love her or anyone else. Sansa had claimed his heart without even knowing it. She had claimed it in the snow at Castle Black. 

"We will see the Lannisters defeated, Cersei will pay for what she has done. We will take back Winterfell with my dragons, and see that your seat is restored" her words promise victory and glory, but Jon does not want it. He's never wanted it, not even now that he's a King. Daenerys is all consumed with seats and houses and iron thrones that she cannot fathom how Jon's family is more important, how he would trade all the glory and crowns in the world for their lives. 

"The Lannisters have the home I grew up in but I could not care less. My father is dead, my brothers are dead. My little sister is dead and Sansa-" he stops himself at her name when a piercing shot of pain sounds dully through his heart. 

"We will get justice for your family. I promise you that Jon Snow" 

"I don't want your justice! Seeing the Lannisters burn in front of me would not give me justice! Justice and revenge won't bring them back" Jon tells her loudly, his tone cutting and sharp "it won't bring her back". He says the last part quieter but he knows she can hear him and somehow he does not care what conclusion she draws from it. 

She steps closer to him then, her eyes that shine with a solid determination locked on his and he finds no matter how much he wants to he can't seem to look away. They are eyes so different than Sansa's, and her hair that shines like silver does not burn like dragon's flames. If he stares long enough at her he finds Sansa vanishes from his thoughts; stored away in the ever filling graveyard that is his mind. Her hand is ice cold as it places itself on his face, and his lips are parted when a shiver rolls from him at the feel of her touch. He craves then the warmth of the fires in Winterfell, how they would cloak the chambers in a heat that would always comfort him and how warm he'd always felt while Sansa sat with him in front of the hearth. He wishes for that more than anything. 

"We will see our enemies defeated, and I know it won't bring your family back but Cersei will no longer be allowed to breathe for what she done to them. I will avenge them, Jon Snow" it's almost like she means what she is saying. As if the vengeance for his lost siblings is the sole reason she fights this war. He almost believes her, and some part of himself wishes that he did. 

He has hated himself for a long time, but perhaps he has not detested himself so greatly as he does after each time she leads him to her chambers. The boat rocks on the lapping sea and Jon himself sways side to side as he holds her hand tightly in his. Why he decides to chase the feeling of pleasure with her each night still remains a great mystery to him. She is beautiful undoubtedly, and skilled when she partners her body with another and she makes Jon feel as wild as he had felt with Ygritte. For a moment there is nothing but her slight body and her deft hands as they unlace his breeches and let them fall to the floor. 

He is only Jon and she is only Daenerys. There is no love he holds for her, he often wonders whether he actually admires her or not, but there is a desire between them that outweighs everything else. It is his body talking and winning as it lays on top of hers, and not his heart. He does not complete his actions with the intentions of love but he kisses her skin (never her mouth) in an attempt to forget all he has lost. Pleasure can chase away pain and grief. Many men who have bought and lay with the whores in Wintertown and in King's Landing can admit to that. Daenerys is not a common woman who sells her body, but on the high seas amid a war of the dead she is the closest thing. 

Her eyes are closed in pleasure as he looks down at her, her creamy skin glowing with the candle light in her chamber and it is so much easier to picture her as someone else when her dragons eyes are not open to him. The boat rocks softly atop the waves and with each movement of the tempering sea Jon moves inside her, her mouth opening and closing in moans that are echoed as dully as she normally speaks. 

The candles glow bright and fiery within the cabin, their red glow casting themselves on every translucent surface. As Jon looks at her he is struck with the sudden sight that her hair, so silver and ethereal, now looks as red as fresh blood as it is consumed by the flames. He takes a fistful of it as he thrusts inside her and she cries out his name harshly but he tries to imagine how it sounded when Sansa said it. She'd never said it while underneath him, but she had called him by name a hundred times before in heated arguments and when she had begged him not to go South. 

His next thrust is hard as he remembers his own stupidity. If he had just listened to her perhaps she would be alive now, and maybe it would have been her sharing his bed and not the Queen with a heart full of ice. Daenerys opens her eyes and Jon's thoughts are swallowed by them, and all he sees is her. She is so unlike anything he's ever loved before, and he realises as she cries his name that he never will love again. He does not want to look into her eyes and see that she is not Sansa Stark, so he grabs her hair tighter, the locks of silver colored red by the fire seem to fuel him further as he flips her over and grabs her hips. 

If anyone would have asked him why he admired flaming locks of red hair he would have told them about his wildling girl and the melancholy sadness he still held for her. But he knew deep down his sweet sister was the reason he ran his fingers through another womans hair now and pictured that it was her he was taking from behind. He is saddened and disgusted with himself as he allows pleasure to take over and spurt from his body and into hers; hot and heavy and filling the air with a ripeness that Jon detests. 

He leaves her there, breathing heavy and glowing with a beauty he finds he cannot love as he makes his way to the corner of the room where his breeches lie. He shrugs them on carelessly, feeling altogether unsatisfied with the coupling like he is most nights as he walks to a heavy oak table that is laden with fruit and wine. It is the wine he seeks now and nothing else, the Dornish red coating his throat in an undeniable satisfaction that leaves him heavy of limb and loose minded. Daenerys watches him closely as he makes his way around her cabin, his fingers dusting across books in a cabinet he is sure have been there a long time. Untouched and unread, mostly there for appearances like Daenerys is there for him. 

He hates being stalked by her eyes, and he feels as if she truly is a dragon in that moment, sizing up her direwolf prey. 

"You never fail to disappoint me, Jon Snow" her voice is rough from after sex and she is sultry with the intent of seduction as she lies back naked on the bed. Her hair fans around the crimson silk pillows and the candle light dims. She is no longer red haired, but once again a silver Targaryen "a woman can only hope you never do" 

He just gives her a pointed look that suggests to her he does not wish to comment on such a flimsy matter of conversation; one completely constructed to boost his ego after such a performance. One that Jon has not taken so great an amount of pleasure from. He decides to pour her a cup of the Dornish red instead, and hopes it will lull her to a sleep she will not wake from for hours but the effect is not immediate and all that happens from her is a smile from wine tinged lips. 

There is a rather uncomfortable wooden chair that rests beside a table that holds an enormous and open book, and Jon sinks himself into it. _The Greater Houses of Westeros._ Jon smirks a little as he brings his goblet to his lips at the thought that Daenerys has been spending the nights he doesn't come to her studying the ancient lineage of the Seven Kingdoms. It is open on her own house, the pages aged and dyed a terrific brown shade from the time it has spent on a shelf somewhere, the titles of former Targaryen heirs littered within.

"Missandei found it back in Dragonstone. I gather some Maester or other wrote it there and long abandoned it" Daenerys tells him from the bed, pulling the satin sheets around her body as she sits up, eyeing him from a better vantage point. _It is because Dragonstone has long been abandoned_ , he wants to tell her but he stays silent "if I'm to rule the Seven Kingdoms then I should know more _about_ the Seven Kingdoms" 

"Aye, that does seem the logical thing to do" Jon can almost feel her eyes narrow on him but he pays it no mind as he flips through the pages, ignoring Lannister and Targaryen to come to his own. Although he does not bare the name Stark he bares their blood, but he is stopped when he notices a small crinkled and worn letter wedged between the pages of House Tully. It's scrawl is neat and tidy, and it is as familiar as his own. 

He can feel his heart beat increase as he takes the weather beaten piece of parchment in his hands, and he can tell that whomever has been reading this letter has read it countless amount of times. The ink is smudged at the corners and there are so many wrinkles in the paper that the words are almost obscured to Jon's eyes. Almost. He can read the name at the bottom, a name he's been reciting in his head every waking moment. 

 _Sansa_.

He can feel them now, those eyes watching him from where she perches on the bed, and there is not a sound in the room save for their breathing and Jon's increasing heart rate. Here is a letter from his dead sister that he has never seen before, and it is addressed to _him_. His dark eyes scan the words, contemplating whether or not he should read it and then his heart rules over any logic and the thought is abandoned as he begins. 

_My dearest Jon,_

_The lions have Winterfell and it's people at their mercy. But I am safe and with Lord Baelish, although I do not think his loyalty will stay true to you now that I am no longer in the safety of my home. Jon I need you now more than ever, and I fear the North needs you more than ever. Please come to me Jon. I need you with me._

_your Sansa_

His hands tremble something terrible as he reads and rereads the letter with such a resurgence of heart that he feels he'll faint where he sits with the sickening relief that is overwhelming him. Her name is followed by a rough and rather wobbly sketch of a bird and a thin crescent line, and he knows immediately where she is. There are no words he can utter aloud that can give the feeling justice and it is one that makes him as lightheaded as the wine. It is happiness and joy, a certain joy he thought he'd never feel again, and he feels as if he can weep where he sits with tears of utter jollity. But underneath his short lived relief lies a horrible rage that is slowly obscuring the words in front of him to nothing but a dark blur, and his black eyes lift ever so carefully to rest upon the face of the Queen. 

"What is this?" he manages to choke out, and even his own voice frightens him with the amount of venom that drips in it. Daenerys, as calm as ever, collects herself as she stands from the bed, the satin sheets draped around her figure. She is bathed in moonlight and in the candles, and her cheeks are glowing along with her eyes, silver hair cascading around her face. But Jon can not find her beautiful. He can only see something he detests that is well hidden by her beauty. 

"You needn't become so volatile" she warns him coolly but he does not head her words, stepping closer to her and taking her bare arm in his hand. She may be the mother of dragons and can walk unharmed from fire, but she is not immune to a Stark's rage and he knows she will have bruises in the shape of his fingertips tomorrow. 

"What is this!" it's no longer meant as a question as he shoves the letter in front of her, those eyes of hers that command attention looking at the wrinkled piece of parchment and he can see her cold facade drops to one of shock as she eyes it "I thought she was dead! You let me believe she was dead yet you've known she wasn't all along! I wept for her" 

"Yes you wept for your sister, yet you grieved for an unrequited love and mourned for the woman you wished to share your bed with" her words are ice and he rips his arm from her and turns away. He does not sit well with the idea that Daenerys has known all along how he has yearned for someone who could never share his heart, or his bed. His hands lay flat on the table, and he grips it fiercely, wondering how they would look around her pale throat. 

"Why didn't you tell me? Sansa was dead, and I was ready to die the next day if the gods saw it fit and you would have let me run headfirst into it" Jon is raging as he spins around, heart pumping and blood pounding. 

"You and I Jon Snow could rule the Seven Kingdoms. We could build a better world for everyone in Westeros, and we could do it together. But you could not see my vision, you could not understand it while your sister was the true Queen you wanted to stand beside" she walks towards him slowly, her voice dull and sharp and her eyes never letting his go. 

"I don't know what you mean. You're insinuating something that is of the utmost disgrace to my -" 

"You know exactly what I mean. You've whispered her name in my ear too many nights for me to not notice how you want her beneath you and not me. I do not know her face yet I picture it every night, and try to think of the girl that owns your heart" her eyes are flashing dangerously, and he knows in that moment that she bears the utmost discontent towards Sansa despite the fact she has never met the Lady of Winterfell. 

"She is my sister, and you let me believe her to be dead. I cannot forgive you for this" he backs away from her, his hand tightening into a fist as he crumples the letter in it and with it he imagines the pain and grief that Sansa's apparent death had caused him. 

"I am not asking for your forgiveness. I do not need it. What I do need is your presence by my side when I take the Seven Kingdoms" she is godly and destructive as she corners him against the wine cabinet, and suddenly she is soft and gentle as she speaks. Nothing like the girl she had been moments before. Jon wonders whether her gentleness is feigned to win him over with ladylike tendencies he has only seen Sansa display. He guesses that it is true when he meets her eyes and sees a burning fury within them that clashes with her current facade. 

"I will not sit on or anywhere near the Iron Throne, and I will not stand beside you while you take it" Jon tells her as he looks down at her, watching as each fiber of courtly gentleness vanishes from her face. It is replaced with an utter rage that tells Jon she detests him in that moment. He had never cared much for her love and he cares less for her hate. She does not say a word as he pushes past her, hastily picking up his sword and shirt from the ground and heading for the heavy door that stayed barred during their rough bedding. 

"You walk away Jon and I will assume you to be in open rebellion" Daenerys warns him stiffly and he makes himself turn around to meet her frosty eyes that hold the entirety of winter in them. Fear is her weapon, and empty threats are something she spouts to the lowest of subjects, but Jon does cower away at the thought of her dragons but only stands straighter and eyes her with the ferocity of a wolf "I haven't given you permission to leave" 

"You may be fighting for a crown but I already have mine" he tells her smoothly "I am a King, I don't need your permission to leave" 

"I am your Queen!" her shout is ear shrieking and her tone is akin to a spoiled lordly child, and Jon narrows his eyes as he looks at her still standing with the bed sheet wrapped around her and a fury on her face that would have defeated the greatest of foes. 

"I already have a Queen" he thinks of Sansa as he says it, and he knows by the flicker of hate on her face that she thinks of her too. He holds her eyes for another moment before turning around and leaving her standing there. Her shouts echo throughout the ship cabins as Jon makes his way through them, and she swears vengeance on both he and his flame haired sister. They can not hide from her wrath and her dragons, she tells him, but Jon knows that wolves are also fearsome beasts that will not cower in terror. 

He does not think of anything else other than Sansa and the fact that she is alive as he wakes Ser Davos and follows him onto a small row boat that will take them across the sea. The sun starts to rise and as the light settles across the skies of Westeros Jon can't help but take out the small wrinkled scroll that now rests inside the cloak his sweet sister had made for him so long ago. A smile spreads on his face that makes Davos question him as he rows across the black waters and Jon only reads aloud the letter that contains the very reason he defied a Targaryen. 

He reads the last line almost every minute they spend rowing and his heart, that had been frozen with grief is now thawing with a love he knows he should not bear. But he is content for the first time in years as he eyes the letter and can't help but fall more in love with her than he already is.  _Please come to me Jon. I need you with me,_ her letter had read. 

 _I'll be with you soon enough Sansa, my love,_ he thinks. _And I will never leave you again._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
